Running
by stanzaic
Summary: Henry Bolet oneshot, during Legend of the Crystal Skull.


_Yeah, another oneshot for one of my favorite characters. This one's for Henry Bolet from _Legend of the Crystal Skull_. :)_

_I don't own Nancy Drew (or Henry Bolet)._

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**Running**

**H**e was hungry, he was tired, he was cold, he was angry, and worst of all, he was sad. He hated feeling sad, although for him, feeling sad was a definite. He never knew how long it would last for him, either. He figured now and again that the sadness would be infinite for him – in this life, anyway.

He was walking now, his black Vans stabbing the soaked sidewalk with every step. He maneuvered around the big empty fountain in the backyard, avoided looking at his great-uncle's creepy mausoleum, and pushed through the wrought-iron gates. They creaked as he passed through. The creak, the air-splitting, gut-wrenching sound, shocked him into reality. It was as if he'd been blearily watching everything that happened through a faintly foggy window. But now, everything hit him.

Henry Bolet closed his eyes briefly. He snapped them open again, glanced around, and continued to walk. The cobblestones of the miniature street felt strange under his feet. But still, he walked. He had to go somewhere. He had to be away from the ancient house when it all hit him, like it just had. Now it was hitting him, again and again; it was as though the memories were pummeling him into the ground.

He shoved his hands into his pockets – the pockets of his black skinny jeans. Henry could barely recall where he'd gotten them. He only remembered, vaguely due to the unimportance of the memory, pulling them out of his suitcase on the fifth day he'd been here. That had been this morning. Only this morning, and it felt like it had been in a completely different life.

Henry scrunched his shoulders together, hunching over, attempting to bring himself some warmth. His jacket was upstairs with his suitcase, in that disturbing little room he would have to call home for much longer than he liked. Henry had been worried about alerting the girl of his decision. Nancy Drew caught everything, every little movement he made, and every little action he executed. He could see her in his mind's eye, tugging out of habit on one strand of her strawberry-blonde hair, her bright eyes quizzical but calculating. He shook his head to clear it, and water droplets flung themselves from his shaggy dark licorice hair, splattering everything near to him. Of course, that didn't matter. Everything was wet anyway.

Thinking of the wetness, Henry glanced up. The sky was roiling, a foreboding mix of murky grey, inky black, and deep navy; more raindrops spiraled down from the clouds, and a split second later white-hot lightning flashed, bathing everything in creamy light. Henry ducked his head, his hands subconsciously curling into fists in his pockets. His shoulders began to tremble, and although Henry knew it was just because of the chilly wind, he fought to stop it. He felt like it was a weakness.

He turned a corner, then stopped in his tracks. He hadn't even been aware of where he was going. All he'd known, when he started out, was that he had to move. He walked when he didn't know what else to do. Now he was terrified, terrified of what he could do. Henry felt as though he no longer had any control over what he did.

His feet began to move, as if in conjunction with his thoughts; he wanted to stop moving, he wanted to turn round and stumble back into the freakish home. He desired so strongly for this to occur. Instead, he came to a jerky halt in front of the very place he had to avoid. Instead, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to them – collapsed to his knees.

Henry stared at the off-white building for so long that his eyes began to water. That was surely why they were watering. Or perhaps it was the rain that was dripping down his pale heart-shaped face. And then, he couldn't look anymore. He buried his head in his hands, and maybe that was what did it. Maybe it was that and all of the memories and all of the problems he had to face. His shoulders began to shake again, but this time, it was for a different reason. It was all for a very different reason.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, in the rain; Henry might never have gotten up again if not for the sounds of heels clicking nearby. He instantly looked up, wiping his nose with his sleeve. There she was, lurking in the shadows. Henry reddened, and suddenly, his feet were his own again. He struggled to straighten up, turned, and ran. He ran like he'd always run, away from his problems, away from his troubles.

He ran as if he would never stop.


End file.
